


Jealous?

by winchero



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Band Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchero/pseuds/winchero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as part of one of the biggest boybands in the world is great. Totally, one hundred percent fabulous. Sure, sometimes the boys get on each other's nerves, but most of the time Stiles Stilinski can deal with it. Well, unless he's the one sent to Derek's room before a show. Because Stiles kinda has the biggest crush on one Derek Hale, world renowned playboy. Derek, of course, is an oblivious asshole, but he'd have to be dead not to be entirely in love with Stiles, but then, the whole world is in love with Stiles, so obviously Derek has no chance.</p><p>With the help of fellow band mates Danny, Scott, and Isaac, Derek and Stiles finally get their shit together, and also accidentally perform the concert of their life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealous?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Weiner_dog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weiner_dog/gifts).



> My babe Cora asked for a Sterek / One Direction au, and of course I was happy to oblige, even though I know like four 1D songs, and honestly could barely tell you all the member's surnames. So the characters are loosely based on the members of One Direction with Stiles cast as Louis and Derek as Harry. Obviously I don't own Teen Wolf or One Direction, so forgive me for any faults with the characterization, and remember, all credit for characters/song lyrics/etc go to the aforementioned franchises.

“For fuck’s sake, Derek!” Stiles flings his hands into the air at the sight before him. Derek is shirtless on a couch with a girl in nothing but her underwear straddling his lap. His mouth is smeared with her bubblegum pink lipstick and her hair looks as though birds have been nesting in it.

The girl giggles, but Derek merely growls, pushing her off his lap unceremoniously, albeit gently. She picks up her discarded dress (from the look of it not likely to cover much more than her bra and panties) and Derek swats her ass as she scampers away from him and in the direction of either the bedroom or the bathroom, Stiles couldn’t be sure.

Derek stretches lazily, seemingly uncaring that he is shirtless, with lipstick around his mouth, and a special friend making itself known in his jeans, thirty minutes before show time! Stiles glares at him, pissed off solely because he’s going to make them late for their performance, and definitely no other reason, such as, perhaps, the fact the reason he was causing them to be late was because of a pretty girl. A pretty girl with boobs (which Stiles didn’t have), blonde hair (which Stiles doesn’t want), and a vagina (which Stiles had a penis instead of).

“Aren’t you going to say anything?!” Stiles eventually cracks, unable to do the whole smoulder thing Derek has down to a T. Whereas Derek can glare at you until you gladly spill your guts and hand them to him nicely cooked with a delicate dressing, Hannibal style, Stiles is more of a I-will-annoy-you-until-you-tell-me-exactly-why-the-fuck-you-did-the-thing-you-did-or-so-help-you-God kinda guy.

Derek smiles lazily, finally reaching up to wipe the lipstick off with the back of his hand. Stiles was not disappointed by this. Not at all. He remained shirtless, however, as though he somehow knew Stiles would be too distracted by his abs (is that a 6 pack? 8 pack?) to continue with his interrogation. Well, yeah, okay, true. Stiles can admit it. Derek was right. Again.

“Kate was just helping me warm up,” Derek smirks, standing up and stretching slowly. Stiles definitely does not glance at his abs. Or the little trail of hair from his belly button down. Or where that trail disappears into his jeans. Or the slight bulge that remained. Nope. Definitely not.

“Pft, yeah, right, sure, did you not warm up enough this morning with Jennifer?” Stiles splutters, gesticulating widely, and before he can help himself, making air quotes. Like, oh my God, what is he? 12?

Derek raises one of his eyebrows in that way of his. The way which must have taken months of standing in front of the mirror and growling at his reflection until it agreed to show Derek what he wanted to see. Stiles knows. He’s tried.

“What? You jealous, Stiles?” Derek smirks, walking towards him like he’s the big bad wolf and Stiles is a very manly and sexy Red Riding Hood who is most certainly not a little scared or very turned on.

“N-no,” he stutter is a very macho and anti-intimidated way. He informs his dick that now is not the time to salute his band mate. He bites his lip, fighting an inner war between his dick and his brain. It mostly consisted of his brain shouting, deflate little-big Stiles, deflate! And his dick replying, hnnnng very sexy and shirtless Derek approaching must harden and wait for attention.

Derek cocks his head, “You sure about that? You didn’t sound very convincing.”

Stiles chuckles nervously, angling his body away from Derek so he is (hopefully) unable to see the passion in his pants (fuck, did he just quote LMFAO?), “I’m sexy and I know it.” He sings inside his head.

Derek’s jaw drops. Why did his jaw drop? Why is he staring at Stiles with a look of total disbelief? WHAT IS HAPPENING? DID HE SING THAT OUT LOUD? FUCK FUCK FUCK.

“I sang that out loud, huh?” Stiles flushes, boner well and truly dead now. That’s a bonus at least, he supposes.

Derek laughs. The fuck? Derek was great in front of the cameras: he had the world wrapped around his little finger. But he wasn’t exactly the most carefree of the band. In fact he was more of the fantasising-about-ripping-ot-your-heart-and-eating-it-Daenerys-Targeryn-style kind of band member. Not that Stiles didn’t love him anyway, he was just shocked that Derek, the Ice King, had laughed.

“I take it you weren’t jealous then?” Derek asks, turning away to pick his shirt off the floor.

“Maybe a little,” Stiles whispers, low enough so that Derek doesn’t hear him.

Or at least he assumed Derek wouldn’t have heard him. That is, until Derek turns around slowly with a slack jaw, hand clutching his shirt wa(aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa)y tighter than necessary.

“What?” he asks, facial expression curiously blank.

“Nothing! Nada! Zilch! You heard nothing. When I click my fingers you’ll forget any of this ever happened. Anyway, we have to go. Perform. Sing and shit. In like half an hour. So go. We leave. 5 seconds of summer. Something important. They finish?” Stiles began his tirade at his holy-shit-must-cover-up-that-incredibly-embarrassing-thing-I-just-said-by-way-of-extrem-babbling pace, but the closer Derek steps with that weird expression on his face, the slower (and less articulate) Stiles became.

“You said you were jealous,” Derek ignores everything Stiles said. Well that was okay. Stiles generally ignores everything Stiles says as well.

“Yeah, so?” Stiles flushes, past the point of even being able to deny it, and anyway, Derek is slow close now, he can probably hear Stiles’ heart racing like a runaway train.

Derek steps even closer, now close enough that Stiles has no other choice but to press his back against the wall stand between Derek’s legs. Derek raises his hands to either side of Stiles’ head, and leans his head down an inch, so that he is able to breathe in the air which Stiles breathes out. Stiles swallows; barely an inch of his body is not, in some way or another, touching Derek.

Derek grins, a glint lighting up his green eyes, and suddenly his lips are on Stiles’ lips and doing a thing, a very good thing, involving teeth and tongue and the lingering taste of black coffee. Stiles moans, hands finding their way into Derek’s hair, as Derek’s latch onto his hips. Kissing! He is kissing Derek Hale! Holy fuck! He is kissing the guy whose face is over twenty five gazillion teenage girls’ bedroom walls!

Actually, correction, he was kissing Derek Hale. Now he is panting and staring at Derek Hale who is staring at his watch. Derek coughs, pulling away from Stiles and walking towards his hotel room door. Little Stiles is no longer feeling very happy. Big Stiles is definitely no longer feeling very happy, and is also very confused.

“Don’t we have a crowd to woo?” Derek mutter, pulling open the door, and striding down the corridor and, key point here, away from Stiles.

Stiles remains standing against the wall, one hundred percent not crying. Not even one tear. Okay, maybe one tear. At a push two. 

“Oh honey,” a silky voice coos. Kate, Stiles tells himself. The sexy blonde girl, now wearing a dress, as opposed to black lingerie, “You didn’t really think you meant anything to him? Derek does enjoy playing games, and you’re a cute little playmate.”

She chuckles as she walks out the door, and Stiles decides he has no choice but to follow her. After all, he has a taxi waiting, and a gig to play. And he doesn’t want to let Danny, Scott, and Isaac down. Or Derek either. He may be an asshole and a jerk and a slut and a dickhead and a bitch and a dick tooth, but Stiles is in love with him, so yeah, he’ll take stupid kisses which don’t mean anything, and broody silence, if it means he gets to perform with his hopeless stupid idiotic crush every evening. Sigh.

~

Two hours and fifteen minutes into the show and Stiles thinks he’s more sweat than person. His red skinny jeans are far too tight and the total opposite of breathable, and his striped t-shirt is stuck to him obscenely. None of the other guys are much better: Danny’s hair is positively dripping, Scott looks tempted to pull off his red polo shirt (please don’t, Scott, one half naked band member is enough for any day), Isaac’s white t-shirt has became so soaked it’s see through, and Derek’s leather jacket looks like it’s sweating.

But they love it. It’s their dream, they are literally living their dream. So they push the heat to the back of their minds, and focus on the music, and on each other’s voices. They joke with the crowd, interact with fans on twitter, answering their questions and even doing a few dares. They love it, and wouldn’t change it for the world. Well, Stiles wouldn’t, and he’s pretty sure none of the others would either.

 

They changed up the set list for tonight’s show. Derek asked if they could perform “Happily” last. Of course everyone agreed: “Happily” was Derek’s baby, he had written it all by himself. So when Derek steps forward to the front of the stage to introduce the song, it isn’t hard to catch the look of pride on his face when the crowd screams at the name.

Derek begins, singing the first lines by himself in front of the rest of them before jumping back into the middle, between Stiles and Isaac. They sing the chorus together, all five of them dancing, exactly like they’d rehearsed all those thousands of times. Until, Stiles’ solo, when Derek turns around to face him, in a totally unrehearsed manner.

Derek just stares at him, in that broody way he does when they are not stnding in front of a crowd of fans. Derek watches him singing, barely even moving, most definitely not acting like the playful, if slightly whorish, Derek the public knows. So maybe when Stiles sings his line, he’s maybe kinda singing to Derek. It’s not like Derek would even, realise. No one would even realise.

Until his voice breaks a little when he sings, “I’m sorry love, but I don’t really care.” Because yeah, he does care. He cares that Derek will literally kiss anyone, and has no idea how much Stiles is in love with him. But he can’t tell Derek, because Derek is an obtuse asshole. Except, maybe he’s not really… Because he has that same unreadable expression on his face as he did when he kissed Stiles earlier on. Curious, very curious…

Scott and Danny sing, and Derek starts dancing again. Only not like band-performance dancing, more like lets-grab-Stiles’-hips-and-do-some-sexy-hip-rolling-and-singing-all-the-words-while-looking-at-you-guessed-it-Stiles dancing. Um. Wow.

The crowd cheers. Well, he supposes it’s to be expected, he knows about all the Sterek fanfiction out there, he’s not a complete idiot. But he also know about the Scerek fanfic, and the Scissac fanfic, and about OT5 (which, by the way, is just no). So the fangirls and guys may want to see it, but none of it’s actually there. Right?

Wrong. Because Derek’s singing his line, the last line, “Baby be with me, so happily.” And he’s not pointing at a girl in the crowd this time. No. Most definitely not. Because he’s kissing Stiles. For the second time in like four hours. On stage. In front of the entire universe. Everyone is screaming and cheering and Stiles is most certainly agreeing, his entire being is on fire. And then of course the fireworks go off, and he’s still kissing Derek, in a way that is probably totally scandalous, and fuck, there’s like eight year olds in the crowd, but actually, fuck it. He’s kissing Derek Hale, who is wearing jeans that are far too tight, while fireworks are going off. It’s perfect, and he doesn’t give a rat’s ass if some eight year old’s homophobic Daddy is growling and cursing them.

Derek eventually pulls away, and Stiles definitely does not moan his disapproval. But at least he doesn’t move away far. He stands in front of him, still ignoring the crowd, and places a hand on Stiles’ cheek.

“So will you? Be with me? Like boyfriends?” Derek asks, face flushing slightly. Stiles wants to laugh, to rub it in Derek’s face that this time he’s the flustered one, he’s the one tripping over his words. And he also wants to sympathise, because he’s pretty sure Derek forgot his mic was still on, and his neck is lightly up like a traffic light as the crowd collectively “aahhh”s.

But instead Stiles grins, and says yes, because he, unlike some people, i.e. Derek, is not a sadistic jerk. It’s only after Derek smiles back that Stiles notices his bandmates. They’re standing around the new couple (Stiles inwardly squeals at the word couple) and muttering “finally” and “at long last” and “I knew this would work” and hold on a sec-

“You guys were involved in this?” Stiles asks, brow furrowing.

“Well we got a little sick of the pining both of you were doing, so Scott suggested to Derek subtly, well, as subtle as Scott can, to ask to sing “Happily” last, and then the fireworks and residual sexual tension from basically every time you two see each other just helped everything fall in to place,” Isaac shrugs.

The crowd cheers again, and the band turn to them with sheepish grins, bowing, and apologising for the ridiculous romantic disaster Stiles and Derek are. They leave the stage to the sound of applause, and Stiles is so grateful there’s no Meet&Great after this performance, because he and Derek both have some very serious unfinished business to attend to.

~

They get Stiles’ door open eventually with a lot of giggling, cursing, and, most importantly, kissing. The door has barely shut behind them when Derek is positively ripping both their shirts off and holy hell, Stiles is not complaining. 

Derek must be magic, because he seems to have grown five extra hands, two pulling off their shirts, one in Stiles’ hair, one playing with Stiles’ nipple, and one exploring down his pants. Stiles doesn’t even have the mental focus to undo Derek’s belt, never mind touch Derek like Derek is touching him: all without breaking their kiss.

In fact, the only thing Stiles is really contributing to this extreme kissing session is the occasional loud moan. Stiles is good at moaning. And saying “please”. Also “oh, fuck”. And strangely enough, he is an expert at groaning Derek’s name. Fortunately, Derek doesn’t seem to mind doing all the work, as Stiles is pretty sure that if he was left in charge of the process of stripping both of them, they would not be as far on as they are now. Also, Stiles would definitely not be able to hold Derek up against the wall in the fashion Derek is currently holding him. 

“Please, oh fuck, Derek,” Stiles moans, wondering vaguely if he’s somehow forgotten every other word, but not really caring if he has, because Derek’s mouth is fucking marvellous and is doing something to his neck he is 100% certain will leave a mark. And, fuck, being marked as Derek’s is not turning him on more… Okay, actually it kinda is.  
Derek answers with a growl, and a delicious roll of his hips. His very naked hips. Stiles is very much in love with Derek’s hips at this moment. And perhaps more so with the rather large treasure between them. Derek continues his perusal of Stiles’ throat, and damn it, Stiles is going to have to start stealing Isaac’s scarves.

He must have blacked out for a moment, because when he opens his eyes he sees Derek on top of him, and feels a very comfortable bed (with clean sheets, thank God for room service) beneath him. Derek is very enthusiastically rutting against him, and Stiles’ hips are answering him thrust for thrust. When Derek whines at him Stiles realises that they are both getting close to that happy place which involves the release of semen and also cuddling after. Now, Stiles is very found of that happy place, his right hand can attest to that, but he refuses to come after five minutes of mild stimulus. He is no longer a teenage boy.

So Stiles frees a hand to root through his bedside locker, locating a condom and a bottle of lube, both of which he tosses at Derek, perfectly content to just lie there and let Derek do everything. After all, Derek owes him for being an ass earlier.

Derek is definitely skilled in the art of sex. Is sex an art? Fuck it, it is when Derek is involved, because Stiles is this close to falling apart into a ball of melted marshmallow thanks to Derek’s long fingers repeatedly stroking his prostate.

“For fuck’s sake Derek, you aren’t that big,” Stiles finally half-yells-half-moans at him, and the sourwolf chuckles, preparing himself, before slowly sliding in. They both sigh with relief when Derek gets as far in as he can.

And then Derek’s moving. And fuck. Simply, fuck. Stiles mewls like a horny kitten, and he is not afraid to admit it. Well, not afraid to admit it within the confines of his own head anyway. Derek doesn’t care. Actually, that’s a lie. Derek obviously cares, because when Stiles made the very embarrassing noise not to ever be spoken in public, Derek’s smooth rhythm stuttered, and he groaned into Stiles’ neck. Ah ha! Victory to the Stilinator.

But Stiles doesn’t really feel victorious for very long, in fact he doesn’t really feels much more than the snap of Derek’s hips against his own, and the smooth slide of Derek inside him. When Derek locates his prostate again, Stiles almost cries at the sensation. He doesn’t though, instead choosing to rake his fingers down Derek’s back. Derek makes a positively animalistic noise, and fuck yeah, Stiles caused it!

“Stiles, really close,” Derek pants, sliding his hand between them to take Stiles in his hand. From then on he matches each thrust of his hips with a pull on Stiles’ dick. 

Finally, after Derek’s pace speeds up from sloth to rocket ship, Stiles bites into Derek’s shoulder as he comes with a harsh cry. Derek rocks into him a few more times before also entering happy orgasm land. He pulls out and most likely tosses away the condom, Stiles is too tired to look. Derek tugs the covers up around them, and Stiles drops his head onto his shoulder, more than ready to sleep. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s half asleep when he hears Derek whisper.

“Love you, Stiles,”  
“Mrgh huh,” Stiles replies, waiting for Derek’s answering chuckle before escaping to dreamland.

~

They walk into the hotel’s restaurant holding hands. Derek is wearing a shirt of Stiles’ and it would be funny how tight it was, if it wasn’t insanely arousing. Stiles wonders if Derek would be up for round two of morning sex (they had already exchanged blow jobs in the shower that morning), but his grumbling stomach reminds him that eating is just as important as sex. Stiles’ dick would like to disagree, but Stiles’ brain tells little Stiles to have patience: Derek had promised to wake him for sex every morning from now on.

Thanks to Stiles’ inner discussion, he misses whatever Scott said to them as they arrived at the band’s table. Obviously it was something inappropriate, as Isaac is sniggering, Danny is blushing, and Derek is doing that really hot eyebrow thing.

“Sorry?” Stiles asks, falling into a seat, and pushing Derek into the one beside him.

“I was just commenting on your matching sex hair,” Scott grins. Smug bastard. Stiles flips him off as he reaches for toast. 

“We’re glad you sorted your shit out,” Danny replies earnestly, and Stiles turns with a grin to Derek. Derek smiles back, flushing lightly at their friends’ close scrutiny of the new couple. Stiles smiles wider, reaching up and pulling Derek into a kiss.

“Oh my God, not that glad!” Isaac shouts, as Scott shields his eyes and Danny pretends to through up.

“What?” Stiles smirks, “You jealous?”


End file.
